Sisters of Mercy

by Andrew Puckett

  A vigorous nod.

  ‘Chest pain?’

  ‘Some. Here.’ He indicated with his fingers.

  ‘That’s only to be expected at this stage. Let me look at this chart a moment. Hmm.’ He showed it to the house officers. ‘Any comments?’

  ‘A good response to isosorbide. Steady progress.’ Paul Ridware, house officer: shiny black hair, dark complexion, smooth and sensual.

  ‘Ye — es. What about this?’ He pointed to a dip in the graph.

  ‘Dosage a little too low?’ Deborah Hillard, senior house officer: slim and assured, attractive, with curly auburn hair.

  ‘What would you recommend?’

  ‘Increase by five milligrams daily?’

  ‘Yes. I’d agree with that.’ He turned to Stephen. ‘Can you organize that, please, Dr Wall?’

  ‘Certainly, Mr Chorley.’ He made a note.

  Back to the patient. ‘You’re doing well, Mr Ashbourne. We’ll be transferring you to the Coronary Care ward soon. Tomorrow, or perhaps the day after. We’ll see.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor. I — er — thanks.’

  ‘You’re very welcome.’

  Move on to next patient.

  Including the beds in the isolation rooms, our ITU held only nine patients, so the ward round didn’t take too long.

  And, pleasant man though Mr Chorley was, we all heaved a metaphorical sigh of relief when he’d moved on to the next ward.

  Then, to work.

  Organize changes in drug therapy. Take a patient off the monitors. Arrange for collection of blood samples.

  Minor medication to relieve minor aches and pains, sore arms from infusions and venepunctures …

  Mrs Peters rang, tearfully asking for Mr Peters’s wedding ring which hadn’t been with his other effects. I assured her it would be returned, thinking, Oh my God, not a thief on top of everything else, please …

  Jenny Towers, the physiotherapist, arrived with a list of patients to see …

  The ECG technician, Jacqui (with an i) Newborough, brought in her equipment, picked up her requests and started work …

  Pat Drayton, phlebotomist (a fancy title for blood sample taker) picked up her requests and studied them for a moment.

  ‘Susan not around?’ James asked her.

  ‘She’s off for a fortnight,’ replied Pat. ‘Why? Aren’t I good enough for you?’ Put as a joke, but defensive all the same.

  ‘’Course you are, Pat. Beautiful, too. Just wondered, that’s all.’

  In fact, Susan King, our usual phlebotomist, was much better than Pat, who tended to be rather brutal when she couldn’t find a vein first time.

  ‘Pat ...’ Gail Colton, staff nurse, said. ‘Try Mrs Weston’s right arm today, would you? Her left’s in a bit of a mess.’

  ‘OK,’ said Pat. ‘But she’s got terrible veins, that one. Really difficult to find.’

  ‘All right, Pat. Just do your best. I’ll be glad when Susan’s back,’ she continued in an undertone when Pat had gone, and we all agreed. Dumpy, unobtrusive Susan who quietly got on with the job; so gentle that several patients had said they literally couldn’t feel a thing when she pushed her needle in …

  ‘Jo,’ said Gail, ‘that deadbolt on the air-lock is sticking again …’

  I went out with her to have a look.

  ‘OK, I’ll phone the engineer …’

  Emma Riley approached me. ‘Can I have a word please, Jo?’

  ‘Sure. Let’s go in here.’

  We went into the empty rest room.

  ‘Could I swap patients with James, please?’ She was very red in the face, I noticed.

  ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘Mr Phillips, he’s just too much. I know I’m a big girl now, but this morning, while I was adjusting his electrodes, he managed to feel my thigh with his right hand and stroke my breast with his left at the same time.’

  She was really upset, I noticed.

  ‘No problem. D’you want me to have a word with him?’ She shook her head. ‘No, there’s no point. He’s not going to make it, is he?’

  ‘No,’ I agreed …

  How strange, I thought. Emma, with her honey-coloured hair, honeypot face and body (I’d seen Stephen and Paul and James all drooling over her) so prim and proper — a churchgoer, I’d heard … and Mary, who looked so coolly beautiful, yet who could be truly wanton …

  They were both good nurses, though — parts of the team I wouldn’t have wanted to be without.

  The door opened and James came in.

  ‘Sorry, am I interrupting something?’

  ‘No, we’d finished,’ I said. ‘In fact, it concerns you, James.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Why don’t you make us both a coffee while I tell you?’

  ‘Sure.’

  A wry smile touched his pale, pleasant face, with its slightly flattened features, as I explained why I wanted him to change patients with Emma.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ he said. ‘I saw him ogling you yesterday, Emma. Funny, isn’t it,’ he continued. ‘How it’s sometimes the most ill who are the randiest. As though they’re making up for lost time.’

  ‘Thank you, James,’ I said, ‘for that penetrating insight. Now how about that coffee?’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  I’d barely finished drinking mine when Miss Whittington’s head appeared round the door.

  ‘Sister Farewell, could I have a word, please?’

  ‘Of course.’ I put the cup down and went with her to my office.

  ‘Your report on Mr Peters covered everything satisfactorily. I don’t think we need take the matter any further.’

  ‘Oh, good. Thank you.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Sister Tamworth?’

  ‘Yes, I have. She accepts the criticism; in fact, she offered to apologize to you personally.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  ‘That’s what I told her.’

  ‘Good.’ She hesitated. ‘And have you had time to reflect on the other matter?’

  ‘Er — yes, I have.’ Her look told me that more was required. ‘I — er — I’ll wait and see whether there are any more unexpected deaths, as you suggested.’

  ‘Good. I’m quite sure you’ll find that there won’t be, and that things will even themselves out.’ She paused. ‘I notice you haven’t taken any leave for some time. Perhaps you need a short break. Are many of your staff away at the moment?’

  ‘Yes, several, including one of the sisters, Vivien Aldridge.’

  ‘Ah, yes. When is she due back?’

  ‘She’s off for two weeks, so today fortnight.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you could take some time off when she returns.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ I said.

  ‘Good,’ she said for a third time, and made for the door. ‘Oh. Have you drawn the attention of your staff to Mr Chorley’s talk tonight?’

  Had I?

  ‘I’ll make sure I remind them, Miss Whittington.’

  Damn! I thought as she left. I’d have to go myself and drag some of the others with me.

  Mr Chorley gave a talk every two months on the care of cardiac patients — he had responsibility for the Coronary Care and Medical wards as well as ITU. He was an excellent speaker and it was to his credit that he gave of his time for the benefit of new staff, but when you’d heard it three times already, as I had, the prospect wasn’t quite so alluring.

  4

  I managed to bully half a dozen or so of the others into attending, and by seven was back at the hospital myself and on my way to the lecture theatre when I ran into Stephen. ‘Still here, Jo?’

  I explained about the talk and how I felt obliged to go myself, when so few of the others could.

  ‘I’ll come with you, then,’ he said.

  ‘Surely you’ve been to one of his talks before? Not that I mind you coming,’ I added quickly.

  We resumed walking.

  ‘I did go to one when I first came here’ �
�� Stephen had only been at the hospital for a few months — ‘but I was called out halfway through. Never seemed to have found the time since.’

  We arrived and he held the door open for me.

  The small lecture theatre was fairly well filled and we chose seats at the back — instinctively, perhaps. I could see Student Nurse Pete Hadley (Armitage was still off sick) nearer the front with two or three of the others.

  The talk was opened by Dr John Cannock, St Chad’s director of Pathology, who was chairman of the lecture group that year.

  ‘It gives me very great pleasure,’ he said in warm, rounded tones that issued from his large frame as though it were a sound box, ‘to introduce my colleague, and friend, Richard Chorley …’

  ‘That’s rich, coming from him,’ Stephen murmured. ‘I’d have thought he’d have ducked out of this one.’

  It was no secret that Mr Chorley and Dr Cannock had fallen out over the provision of laboratory testing in ITU and disliked each other intensely.

  ‘He appreciates the irony, perhaps,’ I whispered back.

  Mr Chorley’s talk itself lasted for about an hour, after which, Dr Cannock invited questions. It was while Paul Ridware was asking a particularly tedious one that Stephen touched my shoulder and breathed in my ear, ‘Share a bottle with me in Luigi’s?’

  I smiled and nodded and we slipped out.

  ‘My car’s in the staff park,’ I said when we were in the corridor.

  ‘It’s a nice evening,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we walk?’

  ‘Why not indeed?’

  Although by now it was dark, a band of light lingered in the west, and that, and the soft warm breeze made it good to be in the open air.

  ‘I’m rather glad I went now,’ I said, after we’d walked a little way. ‘He …’ I searched for the right words … ‘He has a gift for making you feel useful, reasserting your faith in your job.’

  ‘Perhaps he missed his vocation,’ Stephen said lightly. ‘Perhaps he should have been a cleric.’

  ‘Oh, that would have been a waste.’

  ‘Joking.’ He held my arm as we crossed the road. ‘So the Witless elicits in you the same fear she does in me,’ he said when we reached the other side.

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘The fact that you’re here. That you came to the lecture.’

  ‘It’s more like healthy respect,’ I said after a moment. ‘Talking of which, I’d be grateful if you didn’t refer to her by that name any more — not on the ward, anyway.’

  He looked at me. ‘I noticed Mary saying Miss Whittington in tones of reverence this afternoon,’ he said. ‘Was that your doing?’

  I sighed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  I told him.

  ‘I’d prefer you kept it to yourself,’ I said when I’d finished. ‘For Mary’s sake.’

  ‘Of course.’ He paused. ‘And I hereby swear that the words the Witless shall never be spoken by me again,’ he added solemnly.

  ‘Good.’ I smiled to take any sting out of it.

  Our footfalls echoed from the cobbles of pedestrianized street. The clock in the cathedral struck the half hour.

  ‘It sounds rather like a clash of unsympathetic personalities,’ he continued after a moment. ‘Mary’s and — uh — Miss Whittington’s.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, grinning at his tone.

  ‘With you as piggy in the middle,’ he said as we reached Luigi’s and he held open the door for me.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said drily.

  ‘Any preference?’ he said as he went to the bar.

  ‘Something white, if that’s all right with you.’

  ‘Chardonnay?’

  ‘Fine.’ I left him to it and found a table.

  There weren’t many customers, even for a weekday; the recession must have hit Luigi’s pretty hard. It had been opened in the late ’eighties, which probably meant a big mortgage. It would be a shame if it closed, I thought, looking round. Dark wooden furniture, good quality too; stained floor, goodish pictures … Stephen arrived with the bottle and glasses.

  ‘Cheers!’ he said when he’d poured and we’d touched glasses. ‘Mm, nice. What were we talking about …? Ah yes, Dick.’

  ‘Dick?’

  ‘Whittington. Had a cat and became Lord —’

  ‘Ha, ha. And I don’t think she’d appreciate the sobriquet Dick any more than the Witless.’

  ‘Aha! You said it yourself!’ He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. ‘The Witless. I knew you’d say it eventually.’

  ‘You’re infantile,’ I said, laughing nevertheless.

  His eyes switched away for a moment. ‘You have to be, in our job.’

  ‘Our job …’ I mused. ‘Yes, I suppose you do.’ I drank some more of the wine. It was delicious. ‘Are you thinking of specializing in cardiology?’

  He smiled, rather enigmatically. ‘I’m not sure yet.’

  ‘Where were you before you came to Latchvale?’ I asked, curious.

  ‘Birmingham.’

  ‘You too? Which hospital?’

  ‘Royal United.’

  ‘So what brought you here? Latchvale’s a bit of a back-water.’

  ‘There was a vacancy here in Cardiology, so I took it, for the experience.’

  Took it, I noticed, rather than applied for it.

  ‘Did you train at the Royal?’

  ‘No, London. But I moved to Birmingham for —’

  ‘For the experience?’ I finished for him. ‘My, you have been around.’

  He shrugged and smiled again. ‘It’s all useful in the end.’

  ‘Where are you from, Stephen?’

  ‘Stratford-on-Avon, originally. My father’s still a GP there.’

  ‘Nice spot. So what about you? Would you like to emulate Mr Chorley, or will you follow Father’s footsteps?’

  ‘That was pretty good, Jo. You obviously haven’t had enough wine.’

  He refilled my glass, then told me he hadn’t made up his mind what he wanted to do yet, although his father wanted them to go into partnership together, so that they could raise the money to build their own private health centre.

  ‘Is that really you?’ I asked, a little surprised.

  ‘I don’t know. It does have its attractions.’ He gave another enigmatic smile, and then switched the subject to why I’d taken up nursing. The evening was growing rosier as the level in the bottle dropped, but then he said something that reminded me that I’d been to the police just two days before to talk about murder, and I shivered suddenly.

  ‘What’s the matter, Jo? Someone just walk over your grave?’

  ‘I think they might have done,’ I replied, thinking aloud.

  He sat up. ‘Tell me.’

  Can I trust you? I wondered, looking at his strong, English face. I wanted to, very much.

  ‘You remember Mr Peters?’ I began. ‘Last Friday — did it surprise you, him dying?’

  ‘I suppose it did,’ he said slowly. ‘But patients do die unexpectedly.’

  ‘Yes, they do,’ I agreed. ‘But how many patients?’

  That got his attention and I told him what I’d told Miss W, although not about going to the police, since it had directly contravened her orders.

  ‘That’s a hell of a thing, Jo,’ he said at last. ‘If it wasn’t for the fact it was you, and the statistics, I’d think …’

  ‘What would you think?’ I demanded.

  ‘That you were being … over-imaginative,’ he said quietly. Then: ‘Look, I’m sorry. I know a bit about statistics — why don’t you show me?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, the files are at my house, for one thing.’

  He grinned. ‘The devices we men’ll adopt to gain our wicked ends.’

  ‘Oh, very droll. Can’t you see I’m worried …?’

  He covered my hand with his own. ‘I’m sorry, Jo. I was … trying to help, I suppose. Do let me have a look. Your house isn’t far from
here, is it?’

  *

  ‘I’m not sure you should have used probability limits in this instance,’ he said, frowning over my calculations some thirty minutes later. ‘How much d’you actually know about statistics?’

  ‘Not much, beyond probability limits.’

  ‘For another thing, you’ve used percentages here, of the numbers of patients, where you should have used the numbers themselves.’

  ‘But I thought percentages would be more —’

  ‘And the test you should really have applied is the chi-square test, possibly with Yates’ correction. Look — have you got a pencil and paper?’

  I found them and he showed me how, if I’d used a different method, the number of deaths wouldn’t have been significant.

  ‘I’ve never really understood statistics,’ I said with a sigh.

  ‘Statistics can be made to prove — or disprove — anything,’ he said gently. ‘You must have heard the old saying: There are lies, damned lies, and statistics.’

  I smiled. ‘Yes. But I’m still worried, Stephen. I still feel that there have been too many deaths, and of the wrong patients.’

  ‘Woman’s intuition?’ He covered my hand again.

  ‘Yes, damn you!’ I said, snatching it away.

  ‘Jo …’ he took it again, held it. ‘I’m sorry. Listen — I’ll look into every one of these cases you’ve got listed here, and after that we’ll both keep an eye on things, and if it happens again — oh, in the next week or so — we’ll do something about it. A deal?’

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘A deal. Thanks, Stephen.’

  ‘This has really been getting to you, hasn’t it, Jo?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You poor old thing.’

  There was a moment of absolute stillness, then he leaned over and gently kissed me.

  5

  There is no feeling in the world to match the high you get at the beginning of a new affair. Everything around you is sharpened, three-dimensional, more real.

  Stephen had left sometime during the night and although I hadn’t slept for a while afterwards, now, as I walked through the park to the hospital, I felt glorious. The autumn colours pulsed, the sky shimmered with blue, bringing alive the pink sandstone of the cathedral’s three spires — the Ladies of the Vale … and as I looked at them, I suddenly understood why they’d been named that.